


Bedding

by Tridraconeus



Series: Pest Control [4]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Crossfaction, Cuddling, Enemies With Benefits, Large Insertion, Light D/s, M/M, Pining, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29499783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tridraconeus/pseuds/Tridraconeus
Summary: In trapping, the act of making a leg-hold trap sit solidly in position so it will not tip or move should an animal step on a part of the trap beside the spring.The saboteur has let himself in again.
Relationships: Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/Jake Park
Series: Pest Control [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768081
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	Bedding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LeoOtherLands](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeoOtherLands/gifts).



> First work in this series written from Evan's perspective! I hope I did the big man justice. Happy birthday, Leo!

The saboteur has let himself in again. Evan can lay on his back in his bed with minor difficulty, and over time the Entity has seen fit to overlook certain facts of reality, so the cruel hooks embedded in his flesh do not tear the old fabric. The room is never totally dark; the heavy, swollen full moon gushes light through the window. 

Park has let himself into the manor, and let himself into Evan’s _bed_ while he was asleep. He’s still fully dressed; he smells like fir and pine; like rich, loamy soil; like the sour mash of herbs he uses as a compress on his mangled leg. Dried blood and oil. It’s swallowed up by the musty scent of the sheets, laundered long ago and holding on barely to the pleasant scent. Park’s small body curls against his. He’s settled his head beside Evan’s bicep. 

He’s asleep. His chest rises and falls slowly, in rhythm, and one of his hands is curled around the hem of Evan’s waders. Evidently he’d come to seek out Evan’s attention and thought better of waking him, and decided to wait, and succumbed to sleep not long after. 

Evan’s never been all that good at denying the saboteur what he wants, and he will be sure to reward Park’s patience in time. 

_Evan_ is nothing if not patient. He’d waited for the saboteur to come to him, over and over; had fixed the countless ruined traps without complaint, though he had grown used to that; had broken him to gentleness. Broken himself to it, to some degree; it had been so long since he’d had any reason to be gentle. 

It’s won him this. A _survivor_ , curled against him in his bed without fear of reprisal. 

They’re all fragile, terrified pieces of meat fighting back in what small ways they can. Not the saboteur, though. Evan has only won fear from him on rare occasions. He’s captivated by how frail he is compared to the others; how he could snap his bones almost accidentally. How he could hurt him without even trying.

How the saboteur trusts him to _not_ , and seeks him out, and provokes him into letting loose the slightest bit for just a taste of what Evan could do to him. Evan squeezes his wrists and he gasps; hefts him with one hand and his pants grow tight. He’s too easy to overpower, and while Evan doesn’t _need_ his cooperation he suspects over time he’s won a fair bit of it.

Pain is easy to inflict, to understand; a shared language. They’ve been learning different ways to communicate. Evan thinks that slowly, Park is beginning to understand gentleness. Again, he thinks, it’s won him the small, warm body tucked up against his own, and Park’s calm, steady breathing makes his heart constrict. 

Park has been so very patient. That surely deserves reward. Evan shifts slightly onto his side until he can face him, hand drifting to his cheek. He likes to wear his scarf over his face until all that’s visible are his eyes, almond-shaped and dark, cunning and calculating but Evan has seen them blown wide with pleasure and need and that softens them, to him. Closed gently in sleep, now. 

His scarf is down around his neck. It bares his face to Evan, which he has insisted on _anyway_ , tugging the silly thing down when Park comes to demand his attention. In sleep, his face is peaceful and wiped clean of his typical warding sharpness; Evan could watch him sleep for hours. 

If he is to be _affectionate_ , he will have to do it before the saboteur wakes. 

“My little saboteur.” He strokes Jake’s hair. It’s not enough to make him stir, so he indulges again, and only after raises his voice. “Saboteur. Wake up.”

That wins a shift, a sleepy exhale. 

Park would not tolerate it, before. Evan knows. Even now Evan is steadily pushing at his boundaries, just barely over what is safe and comfortable, and if Jake could lay bare his own emotions and understand what he’s feeling Evan is sure he would tremble. Would pull away and slink into the Fog and build his defenses back up— back into the prickly, crafty thing Evan knows he still is. 

He does not. He breathes out slowly and turns his face into Evan’s palm, allows Evan to cradle his cheek with the doleful, long-suffering acceptance of a barely-tamed animal.

It allows Evan to cup his face, turn his head up enough to kiss him. He can feel how Park is taking interest already. Slender thighs capture one of his own. Park’s hips brush against his. Park never kisses him properly unless they’re fucking, and even then he’s far too enamored with teeth; this is just the press of lips on lips. Soft breath against his skin. It’s slow and dreamy; they’re both still half-asleep. 

“Park,” he manages as the saboteur’s clever hand finds an in through his waders and touches him; “ _pest_ ,” growled, as Park’s cool palm makes contact with searing heat. He feels Park’s lips quirk up into a smile against his jaw; he’s never really happy unless he’s given Evan something to growl about, isn’t he, and as Evan abruptly rolls over him and seizes him by the wrists Park does not struggle. He allows Evan to gather his wrists together and hold them above his head. He tests the grip, of course, he always does and always has to and won’t be satisfied unless there’s no slack or respite, breath shallowing in his chest. It makes it easier, Evan thinks, when he can pretend he doesn’t have a choice.

“What would you do without me to put you in your place,” he muses aloud just to see Park’s expression twist into enraged displeasure. The saboteur suddenly bucks under him, fighting him now, but Evan has peeled him down to the quick and knows by now that in his bed, Park’s _fight_ is merely an invitation to subdue him. “Settle, saboteur,” he warns as he squeezes Park’s wrists in his hands. Park’s breath catches and after another long moment he obediently settles. 

Park’s cargo pants need to come off now. Evan tugs them down one-handed, Park assisting by wiggling his hips as well as he can, until Evan has to fiddle with the gauze wrappings around Park’s injured leg to free the fabric enough. The cargo pants end up somewhere on the floor alongside Park’s hiking boots. His thick woolen socks, two pairs, remain. 

Evan realizes abruptly that while he is certainly aware that Park must have had a life before the endless Fog, he can’t imagine him as anything other than the wily, cautious man that he is. He had adjusted well. Too easily, almost. He has always known Park as a small, starved, dangerous thing. The thought of him as anything else is unthinkable. 

The saboteur spreads his legs open underneath Evan and makes a muted, voiceless noise. He wants Evan’s attention; he’s never shied away from asking for it, no matter how standoffish he may seem.

“Patience,” he murmurs, almost unconsciously. Park responds well to command if only because he knows Evan won’t give him what he wants otherwise. Evan knows better than to speculate it’s because Park secretly _wants_ a guiding hand; he appears when he craves closeness, and dissipates back into the Fog once he’s satisfied, and when he _stays_ after it is because Evan has tired him out.

Park squirms underneath him and rolls his hips up into Evan’s hand, grown tired of patience yet again. Perhaps it is Evan’s fault for not being more firm with him-- as much as he brings Park into line again and again, he’s never truly told him to _stop,_ and with that inch the saboteur has taken a mile. Evan pauses until he falls still against the sheets.

“In my left jacket pocket,” Park finally says. That is, Evan knows, as verbally eager as he can expect. He’d taken it to be reticence at first, the general expected antagonism between survivors and killers, but over time Evan has come to realize that Park is different from the rest.

After all, the rest are satisfied to seek comfort from each other, to forage only when needed and retreat to the safety of the fire though he knows-- has been told-- there have been various discussions of him. 

Park sighs and tips his head back against the pillow, and Evan responds with lips on the stretch of his brown throat. His scarf should stink of blood and sweat, but instead smells like pine and cloth and yes, _blood,_ but not overwhelmingly. Park’s throat is warm and he can feel when the saboteur swallows. Can feel the slow beat of his heart against his lips. 

He fishes a tube of slick from Park’s jacket pocket and pops the top. It’s a real package of lubricant this time instead of miscellaneous grease or map jelly. Modern, Evan places reluctantly, though sometimes it still aches to acknowledge that he is a relic of the past; the tube is likely from Philip’s scrapyard, scavenged from one of the cars or coolers there. 

He sets the tube down on Park’s belly and fishes himself out of his waders, works a respectable amount of slick onto his palm, and coats himself thoroughly before blindly pushing inside. Park breathes out and wraps his legs around Evan’s waist. He’s so small he can’t cross his ankles behind Evan’s back; the thought burns and he holds himself back from simply plunging fully inside of the saboteur. Even with as relaxed as he is, he is _small,_ and Evan is not, and it would hurt him. As much as Park tries to goad him into it, Evan suspects he enjoys just as much when Evan refuses to be goaded and treats him gently instead. 

But again; he does not know that, and if he did, Evan has no illusions that he would tolerate it. 

Park is so warm and tight inside that it nearly hurts. Evan hilts himself after excruciating seconds of sinking in, breathing rough against his hot neck, taking in the woodsy scent of the man. Park always tries to make him go faster. Evan doesn’t see the point, not when he can feel the saboteur’s body twitch underneath him at each slow drag. He’ll get there. 

He’s so impatient. Evan would wonder why he didn’t get caught in traps more often, but he knows better; just because Park is greedy and impatient doesn’t mean he’s sloppy or unobservant. He’s seeing and hearing and _feeling_ everything. Taking it all in, every brush of Evan’s thumb against his wrist and the slightest movement of lips against his throat.

“Evan,” Park finally murmurs, thighs squeezing Evan’s sides as if to urge him. It’s endearing. Evan didn’t know when he started to think of the saboteur as _endearing_ rather than _enraging,_ though it only ever takes a bad, extended trial for him to change his tune. He’s put his claws down in Evan’s bed only; Evan has taught him why it is a foolish idea to do so elsewhere. 

He wraps his free hand around Park’s cock and strokes him in time with each slow thrust into his yielding body. That appears to satisfy him for a time, and he breathes out, back arching off of the sheets. He bends his bad leg to relieve the ache, ankle tapping against and finally resting on Evan’s back; his pulse is fast now, rabbitting against Evan’s lips.

Park makes a little noise for Evan’s benefit and not even a few seconds later is spending himself in Evan’s hand, rolling his hips slowly to meet Evan’s cock, to shove into Evan’s fist. He’s never once let Park touch himself, perhaps a symbolic denial of his clever hands that have caused Evan so many problems over the years but also perhaps on a simpler, cruder level; Park is so difficult to catch and contain, to _hold,_ that Evan must keep a tight grip or else watch him spiral out of reach. A part of that is also making sure that he’s tended to; Evan finds it amusing and yes, endearing, that he can be so demanding and petulant when he feels neglected. If Evan falters even once he’s sure the saboteur will never forget it. 

He hilts himself and grunts lowly as he spills himself into Park. His wrists strain against Evan’s palm and his thighs tighten around his waist; he squirms against the sheets and then falls still, panting. Evan withdraws from him and releases him, expecting him to roll onto his side and retreat now that he’s gotten what he came for. He’s only gotten him to stay before by bodily placing him somewhere, and even then keeping a hand on him; he drops down to his side of the bed and groans, tucking himself away in his waders.

Park sits up. Evan expects him to go for his clothes, to redress and leave; the saboteur spares him a look. Evan watches him as he pulls his clothes back on. It has been long enough that he no longer cares to favor his bad leg, no matter the pain it will put him in later, to avoid looking weak or injured. It’s foolish. It reminds Evan that Park is still _wild,_ which no amount of gentle petting will fix. A wild creature is a wild creature. 

Park looks back at him once he’s fully dressed. His eyes are dark, glittering, considering, like he’s thinking of saying something. Evan wonders what it could be. He often does. Park has _thoughts_ that he keeps to himself. He’s far from stupid, just quite content with allowing people to think whatever they want about him. 

He’s never asked Evan what he thinks of him, either. 

He gives Evan a brief nod, pulls his scarf up over his nose, and retreats through the door. His footsteps are muted, and then gone, avoiding squeaky boards with ease of practice.

Evan sighs and turns back to his side, post-orgasm glow fading into drowsy contentment.

“What _am_ I going to do about you, Park.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos highly appreciated! Man I love this series and I love Parkmillan, my highly-specific interpretation of it at least...


End file.
